


Rewrite

by sachi_sama



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Eddie Lives, F/M, Fix It, M/M, Mutual Pining, ben and bev as a couple is very minor, only eddie can see him, stan is dead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-16
Updated: 2019-10-16
Packaged: 2020-12-20 16:20:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21059591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sachi_sama/pseuds/sachi_sama
Summary: "Stan is missing. Something feels wrong about it in the same way that being back in Derry at all feels wrong, and all of it makes Eddie's hair stand on end, even as he's tipsy and full and telling a twinkling eyed Richie to go fuck himself.Stan is dead. Why the fuck can Eddie still see him?"





	Rewrite

**Author's Note:**

> "We're gonna rattle this ghost town,  
This house is falling apart." --["Anna Sun"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qDVW81bXo0s) by: Walk the Moon

As soon as Eddie steps back into Derry, Maine for the first time in years, he feels like a clock starts ticking. It's not the first time he's felt he has a finite timeline, but it _is_ the first time it's felt more like an hourglass running quickly out of sand. He doesn't really know what's going on at all, but he can't shake the feeling he's going to die here, and soon.

Everything looks exactly like it did when he left—not that he remembered it before he got here. Now it seems crazy he _didn't _remember. The Barrens, the quarry, the library, the fucking pharmacy, the arcade. He grew up here. He _belonged_ here, once. How the hell did he forget?

When the phone rang, Eddie didn't know why he felt compelled to answer. The area code said Maine, and he just...acted without thinking. It was unlike him, and he knows that, and Myra knows that, and this entire thing is just so _bizarre _but somehow so _right_ at the same time. He booked his plane tickets immediately after dealing with his car crash situation, even with Myra chattering and nagging in his ear, and he never once doubted it was what he was supposed to do, despite the fact the name Mike Hanlon didn't ring any bells aside from a cacophony of _alarm bells _Eddie couldn't explain.

Still, here he is outside _Jade of the Orient_, and he's steeling himself to go inside. It feels like the pieces of a puzzle sliding together inside his head. Most people he's met as an adult don't understand how he's forgotten so much of his childhood, and somehow Eddie never really questioned it much, but now he's suddenly got a _lot _of questions.

“What the fuck am I even doing here?” he mutters to himself. Strangely enough, it feels like someone else is listening.

He grits his teeth and goes in, doing his best to shake his spike in anxieties, but it does about as well as it ever has. His hands are shaking as he goes to the hostess stand and asks about the Hanlon party, and if she notices, she doesn't say anything, only smiles and leads him to the back, and to make himself feel more in control of the situation, he starts listing his allergies to her at breakneck speed.

Eddie doesn't know what he was expecting to find, but childhood friends he didn't remember never once crossed his mind. Mike and Bill, so different and so recognizable at the same time, and Eddie remembers being right there with them, a member of the group.

“Holy shit,” is all he can say.

When the stupid gong signals the official meeting of the Loser's Club, all of whom just remembered the other member's _existed_, Eddie finds himself looking into the leering face of Richie goddamn Tozier, and all of a sudden he's a kid again with a personal vendetta for bothering the fuck out of him.

It's insane, how easily he can fall back into the role.

Who the fuck has he _been_, up until now?

Memories return slowly, but not everything, and not _everyone. _Stan's chair remains empty, and Eddie can't help glancing at it periodically, even as everyone chatters around him, throwing insults and swapping anecdotes. And Eddie participates, because how could he not? He remembers these things. He remembers them. He remembers Stan.

And Stan is missing. Something feels wrong about it in the same way that being back in Derry at all feels wrong, and all of it makes Eddie's hair stand on end, even as he's tipsy and full and telling a twinkling eyed Richie to go fuck himself.

At some point after he's laughed more than he has in years, Eddie is wiping tears of mirth from under his eyes and he once again glances at Stan's empty chair, only this time it's occupied. Stan is there, looking at him calmly, and Eddie doesn't know how, but he immediately knows Stan is dead. Eddie's mouth drops open and he looks around to see if anyone else notices, but they're all talking amongst themselves. Stan gives him a little wave.

“Been a while, huh?” Stan asks, and he smiles in that way he used to where his eyes crinkle in the corners that lets Eddie know he means it, and then suddenly Eddie is aware he's crying.

“Eddie? Honey?” Beverly says, noticing. A hush falls over the table as they all look over at him.

“Whoa. Hey, Eds, you being a weepy drunk over there?” Richie asks, and he scoots over into Stan's seemingly empty chair, and Stan vanishes as Richie's hand is suddenly on Eddie's shoulder.

“I just—I saw...” Eddie pauses, and he wipes his hands over his eyes, sniffling. When's the last time he cried? It makes his head hurt every time. “Fuck. I'm sorry, guys.” He stands abruptly. “I'm gonna go splash some water on my face.” He hurriedly exits the room and he hears Mike asking what he saw, but Eddie is already power-walking across the restaurant to the bathroom, aware Dead Stan is hot on his heels.

“Lucky. The bathroom is empty,” Stan says as he leans against the wall. Eddie looks at him, really looks, and he sees the blood on Stan's wrists.

“Stan...” Eddie moves forward and tries to touch him, but his hand goes right through. He doesn't know why that sends more tears pouring down his face. “Fuck, Stan, why'd you— Why can I see—?”

“Easy, Eddie. It's okay.”

“Fuck you, it's not okay! You're fucking _dead!_ Why the fuck are you dead?!”

Stan sighs and he looks up at the ceiling, tongue in cheek. “I guess I was the weakest.”

“What kind of cryptic ass bullshit is that supposed to be? Weak? Like, in the bones or some shit? _What?_”

Stan sighs again and closes his eyes. “Why couldn't it have been Bill that sees me? Talking to you is exhausting when you're freaking out.”

“I'm seeing the fucking ghost of my dead friend in a Chinese restaurant, Stanley! How did you think this conversation would go?!” Eddie screeches.

“It could definitely be worse. Richie would be the worst to see me. He listens about as well as a toddler.” Stan looks back at Eddie and shrugs a little. “You don't remember why Mike called us all here, do you?”

“I don't know, a reunion?” Eddie needs a tissue, but he also doesn't want to touch anything in the bathroom. It _looks_ clean enough, but he doesn't buy it.

“Pennywise,” Stan says softly, and Eddie's brow furrows because he doesn't know what the hell that means.

But then he does.

_What are you looking for, Eddie?_

“Shit!”

Forgetting his avoidance of touching the bathroom, Eddie suddenly finds himself bent over the sink, wheezing as memories flood back to him. Stan watches him sympathetically, unable to do anything.

“The fucking _clown_...” Eddie digs into his pocket and pulls out his inhaler.

“We all made a promise,” Stan says as Eddie works at catching his breath. They both look down at their hands. “I guess I still have to honor it even like this.”

Eddie isn't hearing him much anymore as he panics. The bad feeling he's had since coming here finally makes sense, and it takes a moment for him to understand why he's so _pissed_ all of a sudden.

He storms out of the bathroom and beelines for the room their party is in, hands clenched into fists.

“Eddie—“ Mike stands, hands immediately flying up as if he can tell by Eddie's face that he's remembered. “Let me explain.”

“You bastard. You fucking _asshole_, you—“

“What is it? What's wrong?” Bill asks, standing as well. He gets between Eddie and Mike as Eddie moves forward. Mike is taller and stronger, but Eddie is fairly sure he can get a few punches in.

“Guys, come on,” Ben says, moving to pull Eddie backwards. He looks at Beverly and Richie, who are still seated. Beverly just looks confused, and Richie is giving Mike a hard stare as if to say _“I don't know why Eddie is so pissed off at Mike, but I guess I am too, now.”_

“The fucking _clown_! The clown!” Eddie yanks out of Ben's hold and shoves his finger into Mike's chest. “Why the fuck didn't you _lead_ with that when you called me?!”

“The clown...” Bill says softly, and Mike looks so guilty that Eddie considers launching at him.

“Pennywise,” Beverly whispers, and then Richie is on his feet, also moving towards Mike, his jaw set.

“Guys, please, let me explain, okay,” Mike says. “We made a promise. Don't you wonder why you've forgotten mostly everything about where you grew up? Why you can't remember the things most people can?”

“I just figured it fucking sucked and I blocked it out,” Richie says. He brushes against Eddie as they stand side by side. “And I was right!”

“W-when were y-you gonna...” Bill stutters, and he blinks in alarm. Eddie looks at him, some of his anger fading as he recalls Bill was speaking clearly before they all started remembering It. “Gonna tell us.” Bill finishes, speaking slowly.

“When we were all here!” Mike says. “Stan's not here yet!”

“Stan's dead.” Eddie feels all their eyes on him, but he stares determinedly up at Mike.

“What?” Mike asks.

“He's dead, Mike! He's dead, he's not coming!” The tears resume, but Eddie fights through them. He shoves Mike, but it doesn't do much. Mike barely budges. “He remembered as soon as you fucking called him!”

“Oh god,” Beverly says, and they all turn around to see she's crying as well. “The bath.”

“How do you know? How can you know that? He...he answered the phone. It was him! How is he dead?” Mike says wildly. Eddie locks eyes with Stan, who is standing in the entrance of the room looking sullen.

“He killed himself,” Eddie says, and he scrubs at his face as all the fire leaves him. Ben goes to sit with Beverly, his hand on her back. Bill is looking at Mike helplessly, and Richie is still looking at Eddie.

“Is that what you saw?” Mike asks Eddie softly, and Eddie debates telling them he can see Stan _now_, but before he can, a crunching noise captures their attention. It came from the bowl of fortune cookies.

***

In the aftermath of being attacked by It in the middle of the fucking restaurant, Eddie decides _fuck it. _He's getting out. Leaving Derry did the trick once, right? Why wouldn't it work again? While Beverly calls Stan's wife to get the truth, Eddie and Richie lash into Mike, and Richie agrees leaving is the best option as Beverly gets confirmation that Stan is dead. Stan is _dead._ Why the _fuck _can Eddie still see him?

Eddie clamors into his car, breathing heavily as his hands grip the steering wheel. He doesn't look over, doesn't need to, to see Stan staring at him obviously. Mike and Bill are in the middle of the road talking animatedly, and Richie has already started his car. He revs his engine at Eddie, and Eddie goes through the motions, starts his own car, and then he's following Richie back to the townhouse, refusing to look over at Stan.

“Eddie,” Stan says, and Eddie loses it.

“How the fuck do I know you're not _him? _Huh? How do I know you aren't Pennywise?” His knuckles go white from where he's gripping the wheel. His hands hurt. “This is exactly the kind of thing he does. Use someone's pain against them”

“I can't prove anything,” Stan says. “Do I _feel_ like I'm Pennywise?”

“_No,” _Eddie says, and his voice breaks. “That's what hurts so fucking badly.”

Streetlights blur as Eddie looks straight ahead, and he can't tell if it's because he's driving fast, or because his eyes are filled with tears. Either way, Stan reaches over, his hand on Eddie's shoulder, and fuck it, Eddie can _feel_ it. He can feel Stan's touch. It's not even cold or wrong or otherworldly. It's _him_.

“I'm me, Eds. And before you can say you hate that nickname, I already know that. But it's catchy.” Stan smiles, and Eddie sobs.

“Why? _Why? _Why the fuck would you kill yourself? Stan, you—we _needed_ you.”

Stan shifts in the passenger seat. “Yeah. I know. I know you did. It was just—it was so much. I was scared. I was _terrified._ Mike called and I just, I knew. I remembered. It's so weird to me that you guys are all taking so long to get everything back. I heard Mike and I knew it all immediately.”

“Why is that?” Eddie asks, not to Stan specifically. “I'm still getting random shit.”

“I think it has to do with the order,” Stan says.

“Order?”

“When we die. I was first. I knew that as soon as Mike called me. I was the first to go.”

Eddie's breath catches. Stan was always so soft. So logical. Stan knew better than them all, only went along with things to appease the rest of them. He was always the fucking _best. _And fighting Pennywise, disrupting whatever rhythm Pennywise had going—was this the punishment? Dying one by one for daring to stand up to him?

“Who was next?” Eddie finds himself asking. Stan is looking at him intently.

“Do you want to know for real?” Stan asks.

“No,” Eddie says, watching Richie park his car. Eddie wasn't even paying attention to the fact they made it to the townhouse.

“They say those who are close to death are closer to the dead,” Stan says. “You can see more. Hear more.”

Eddie parks behind Richie, barely seeing as Richie exits his car and waits for Eddie, hands in his pockets.

“So I'm next,” Eddie says, his voice calm despite how he feels.

“I was the weakest,” Stan reiterates, and Eddie finally looks at him.

“What does that _mean?_ The weakest? Of what? Will? Strength? What, exactly?”

“It means I knew too much and couldn't handle it. And then after me, there was...”

Knowing too much. Eddie was always cautious. Sure, most of his health facts weren't correct. He knows that now, looking back. But Stan was right there with him. Stan, who loved nature, thought every plant was poison ivy, and was scared to hurt anyone's feelings. Eddie, meanwhile, was paranoid, terrified, and thought he had to fight tooth and nail to argue a point no one else was tying to prove.

Stan was nicer than him. Better than him.

Is that why Stan was dead first?

“Do you know how it happens?” Eddie finds himself asking. Richie is looking at him now, outside the car. Richie makes a vague _what are you doing _gesture. Eddie shrugs.

“Yes,” Stan says.

“Can you tell me?” Eddie asks, not really wanting to know.

“No. Not outright.”

“Okay,” Eddie says. “Shut up for a while. They're all gonna think I'm crazy or that you're really Pennywise.” He exits the car.

“Who were you talking to?” Richie asks.

“No one,” Eddie says. “I had my wife on speakerphone.” It's a lie, but a believable one. Richie makes a sour face.

“Oh yeah? All eight-hundred pounds of her?”

Eddie bristles. “What the _fuck_ does that mean?”

“Guys,” Stan says softly, sighing. Richie, unaware of Stan, huffs.

“I'm just _saying_. If old Mrs. K was four-hundred pounds, shouldn't the new one be twice as much?”

“_Fuck you,”_ Eddie says, and Richie throws his hands up, exasperated. Stan, to the side, covers his face in his hands.

“Fuck me? Fuck _me? _Do you even know all that we've been through? Do you remember everything yet? My jokes are the least of your concerns—“

“They're still a pain in the ass, okay, and no wonder you don't write your own shit since all you have in your repertoire is _your mom_ jokes—“

“What the _fuck_ is a repertoire?” Richie swipes at him, and Eddie dodges, not wanting to get caught in a headlock. Stan is rubbing his temples.

“You illiterate fuck,” Eddie hisses, and then he's marching into the townhouse, stomping a bit despite himself. Somehow being around Richie makes him revert to a pissed off kid. He never fights Myra like this. Usually he's quiet and lets her do or say whatever because it'll be over faster. Richie Tozier makes him feel downright _feral._

“Eddie,” Stan says tiredly.

“Shut up, too,” Eddie says.

“I didn't _say_ anything!” Richie says from behind him.

Eddie climbs the stairs and starts gathering his shit, not wanting to stay a second longer than he has to. He hears Ben and Beverly chatting downstairs and Richie is probably getting his own things together judging by the thumps coming from next door. Stan sits on Eddie's bed, watching him. Eddie pointedly ignores him.

“You can't leave,” Stan says at last.

“I'm not staying. I can't do this again. If I'm next to die, I should just not even be here.”

“It doesn't work that way. I wasn't here either and I'm still dead.”

“You _killed_ yourself,” Eddie argues. It still hurts to think, let alone say. He can't be mad at Stan for it, and he's _not_, not really. He just wishes it hadn't happened.

“It doesn't matter how it happens. You'll die either way. The only way to stop it from happening is to—“

“I can't _do_ this!” Eddie shouts, and it's suddenly very quiet. He doesn't hear Richie thrashing around next door, or hear the murmuring of Beverly and Ben. Stan is watching him still.

“You don't have a choice.”

Eddie curses and kicks his luggage. There's a knock at his door.

“Eds? You okay in there?” Richie asks. Eddie laughs, borderline maniacally.

“I'm great. I'm fucking _fantastic_.” He kicks his luggage again, and it's so dense it hurts his toes, but that's the least of his concerns. He keeps kicking.

“Okay, fuck, I'm coming in,” Richie says, and then he's picking Eddie up and pulling him away from his kicking fit. Eddie tries to wrench away from him, but Richie is stupidly strong.

“Get _off_ me, you—“

“God_damn_, you're scrappy,” Richie says, and it's absurd he sounds so jovial about it. Eddie tries to claw at him and it doesn't work, so soon enough he's resigning himself to being manhandled by a large man baby in a hideous shirt. “You're gonna break your toes, dude. You're an angry, tiny thing.”

Eddie glares at him from over his shoulder. “I'm going to slit your throat.”

“Okay, yeah, you need a few more minutes in the arms of _casa de Tozier_.”

“Are you guys okay? We heard screaming,” Ben says, appearing at the door. Beverly is by his side, smiling at the scene of Eddie being restrained and cradled by Richie, who doesn't seem fazed in the slightest.

“Eds is having a tantrum.”

“It's good to know after all this time, you guys haven't changed,” Beverly says.

“Fuck you, I changed,” Eddie says.

“You didn't get any taller,” Richie says, and Eddie starts trying to break away from him again just to get one good punch in his smug fucking face. Richie just smiles at him and then looks to Beverly and Ben. “You guys look grim.”

“We were having a, uh. A pretty serious conversation,” Ben murmurs. He glances at Beverly. “She knew about Stan. She knew before we called. She even said the bath.”

“So did Eddie,” Beverly says, looking curiously at Eddie, who stops fighting Richie because this seems like a serious matter.

“Yeah, what's up with that, anyway? How'd you guys know?” Richie asks. He finally lets Eddie go, and Eddie slaps his arm for good measure before straightening up his clothes.

“I _saw _it. In the...the deadlights.” Beverly shudders as she says it. She closes her eyes. “I saw us all die.”

“Fucking _yikes_,” Richie says.

“But Eddie... You didn't see the deadlights. Did you?” Ben asks.

“No.” Eddie looks at Stan, who is still on the bed. “It's hard to explain, I guess. I just knew.”

“We were talking...” Ben says, glancing between them all nervously. Beverly is still looking intently at Eddie. “We were talking about what it might mean. That maybe there's a...a reason we have to stay.”

“Fuck that,” Richie says.

“What else do you know, Eddie?” Beverly asks.

“Just that we're all gonna die one by one if we don't kill It. Nothing major.” Eddie shrugs as Ben pales and Richie curses again.

“So Stan was the weakest,” Richie says.

“Fuck you too, Richie,” Stan huffs, and Eddie laughs. They all look back at Eddie as if worried for his sanity.

“So then, is there an order?” Richie asks. “Is this something we should know?”

Beverly glances at Eddie, who suddenly feels the need to leave the room immediately. “I don't know about an order,” she lies.

Eddie very quickly exits the room and goes down the stairs two at a time to the bar, where he finds the fanciest looking bottle he can and opens it. He's yet to see an employee here, but he _did_ talk to someone on the phone for the room, so he's assuming someone is here. They can add it to his tab or something.

“Eddie,” Richie says as he joins him. “You okay—“ He enters the room in time to see Eddie toss back a shot of Blanton's. Richie puts his hands in his pockets and watches Eddie carefully. “Damn. Well, I can't let you drink alone, can I?”

Eddie pours him a shot, and they stand in quiet solidarity for a moment.

“This is good shit,” Richie says. “Usually I just drink cheap since I like a lot of it. Quantity over quality, right?”

“I usually drink gin and prune juice,” Eddie says, and Richie snorts. “I fucking hate gin.” Eddie sets his glass down with more force than he should, and then he's refilling it, his hands shaking. “I hate so much of my goddamn life.”

“Eds—“

“And I knew it before, you know? I knew I wasn't happy. But I didn't know why. I forgot just like everyone else did, and I never knew I had it better. I never knew I was brave before. I just let everyone boss me around like mom did because it was all I knew how to do.” He throws back another shot, grimacing. “I fought a fucking demon clown and ran away from my mom to do it. I threw out my medication and then I just... _God_, I fucking went back to get it. Like as soon as fighting It was over, everything was already starting to fade.”

“Hey, man, me too. Like I knew there was a hole or something but I didn't know...what it was. I didn't even know when Mike called. I just saw you and then—“ Richie pauses, his eyes widening. “I saw you _all_, I mean.” He frowns as Eddie starts to pour another glass. “Dude, take it easy.”

“Fuck you,” Eddie says.

“You're shaking.” Richie takes the glass from him and then takes his hands, which is bizarre as hell, but also it's not. Richie has always been touchy. “Come on, talk to me here.”

“I think I'm having a mental breakdown,” Eddie says as he watches Stan come down the stairs. Richie looks over too, seeing nothing.

“Is he finally making a move?” Stan asks, and Eddie flushes because they _are_ holding hands.

“I'd ask if it was because of the psycho horror clown thing, but that'd be a weird question. I'm with you, man. If you wanna sit here and get trashed, I'm down. Just let me know,” Richie says, and he looks so uncharacteristically serious that Eddie doesn't know what to do.

“I don't know what I want,” Eddie admits. “I don't ever know. That's why I let everyone decide for me.”

“That's bullshit,” Richie says easily. “You always know everything, at least to hear you tell it.”

Eddie flushes. No one ever believed in him like Richie Tozier. It's something he just now remembered.

“I think I want to get trashed. But it's a bad idea, since I don't know what we're doing tomorrow, and I get really bad hangovers.” Eddie looks at his nearly empty glass and immediately regrets the shots he took. He's got enough of a buzz to want to tell Richie everything, but he also knows it'd be a bad idea.

“Then let's get rid of this,” Richie says, taking Eddie's glass away. Eddie considers reaching for it again, but decides Richie is right.

“Since when are you so sensible?” Eddie mutters, and Richie beams at him.

“I've always been sensible, Eddie-Baby. You just never listened to me before.”

Eddie grimaces, and hates how much he likes the nickname. He likes all of Richie's stupid nicknames and always has, but he'll never admit to it. He looks down to see Richie is still holding one of his hands. Eddie also hasn't let go. Maybe it's the alcohol, or all the trauma, but he doesn't _want _to let go.

“I'm not going to start listening to you _now_. It'll break this thing we have going,” Eddie says with a shrug. He tightens his hold on Richie's hand.

“You're already drunk,” Richie says with a smile. He looks thrilled about it.

“I am _not._”

“It's because you're so tiny.”

“I will literally snap you like a twig and everyone else would _thank_ me for it.”

“Oh my god,” Stan says from his corner. “Just fucking make out already.”

Eddie sighs and sits in a bar stool, looking from Stan to Richie, who immediately hops up to a stool beside him. It's strange how easily they can fall into their old routines despite the many years between their last interaction. Eddie remembers always fighting with Richie, who liked to egg him on in every possible way, but when things started to go sour, or one of them was actually upset, they always gravitated together and communicated without actually talking. They've always been RichieandEddie to their group, even when they were clawing at each other with no real intent to draw blood.

“I feel bad for yelling at Mike,” Eddie admits. He taps at the bar nervously.

“Nah, dude, he had that coming. He should have _said_ something,” Richie says breezily.

“But what could he have said? How do you word something like that over the phone? I think he—he wanted to wait until we were all back together. We were always stronger that way and It hated us being together.” Eddie sighs and glances at Richie. “We left and Mike didn't. Mike never got out of this hellhole.”

“I don't know which of the situations is better or worse, Eds,” Richie says, and when Eddie looks at him curiously, he shrugs. “Was it better to forget or to remember? Seems like none of us ended up happy.”

“You're not happy, Rich?”

Richie barks out a laugh and shakes his head, shifting nervously in that way he always did when the focus was on him and he wasn't trying to be funny.

“I think I've had my highs, yeah. I mean, I made it. I've got dates—tour dates—in Reno. I've got a lot of fans and talks for a Netflix special, but, ah. It's not my own shit, so it's basically being a figurehead for someone else's jokes. It's like I'm touching everything with gloves on. Feeling it and not feeling it at the same time.” Richie doesn't look at Eddie while he talks. He looks down, and he tries to smile, but it's easy to see through.

“Yeah, the glove thing. Going through the motions. I think we all did that,” Eddie says.

“I guess we all something was missing. And Mike was the only one who knew what it was,” Richie says.

“I'll apologize to him. Not that my shoving did much. Pretty sure I broke my finger when I poked at his chest. The motherfucker got _ripped_.”

Richie laughs loudly. “Oh, god, right? And _Ben..._”

“Dude, yes! Ben!”

“Maybe that's the real price we paid for fucking with It. Like a, uh. That monkey thing. We get good stuff with bad things attached forever.”

“The Monkey's Paw?” Eddie asks.

“Yeah! We all got irresistibly hot but in return we live shitty lives.”

Eddie looks over at Stan, who is watching them with an amused glint to his eye.

“I wonder what Stan's wife was like,” Richie continues. “Bet he got all cute and shit as an adult. Wish I could talk to that fucker one more time. He pretty much always knew what to say.”

“Stan was happy,” Eddie says, and it hurts to say because he knows it was true. Stan was happy with his wife, and even with the missing pieces, he managed to thrive. Stan was the one of them who was most eager to forget. Stan never wanted to fight in the first place. And Eddie didn't either, but he also would have followed their group anywhere. Stan existed the most on his own outside of them, knew who he was and what he wanted. Eddie needed their club to thrive. For the others, it must've been the same.

“You think so?” Richie asks softly.

“Yeah, I do. I think he was smart enough to say 'fuck It and his stipulations' and be happy anyway. Like a big 'fuck you' to the clown.”

“Stan never _was_ down with the clown,” Richie agrees. Eddie snorts with laughter. They sit in comfortable silence, each lost in their own thoughts. A throat clears behind them, and Eddie thinks it might just be Stan, but it's actually Beverly, who is smiling widely.

“Am I interrupting something?” she asks, and it's only then Eddie notices Richie's hand is still linked with his own.

“Hell yeah,” Richie says. “Want a shot? Eddie's buying. Being a risk gas-lighter is lucrative work.”

“Analyst!” Eddie snaps.

“Whatever man, sounds like you hype people up about scenarios that never happen and then take their money for it.”

“My _job_ is to think about things other people don't think about for _safety_ measures and—“

“So you've been doing this job since birth and are only just now raking in the bankroll?” He scrunches up his face and makes his voice go high and whiny. _'Guys, come on, it's gray water and it's filled with so much bacteria and all your skin's gonna fall off and I'll get grounded—'_”

Somewhere in the flurry of limbs that is Eddie trying to launch at Richie, they let go of each other's hands, but Eddie feels the warmth for a little while after.

***

Mike and Bill return, and Bill is one-hundred percent on board for whatever Mike's plan is, which means the rest of them are too. Eddie knows well enough he'd follow Bill back to Hell if Bill asked him to, because Bill has always treated Eddie like a person, and when Bill puts his mind to something, the rest seems like an inevitability.

They trek behind Mike, all of them riled on manic energy and a desire to end It for good. Unbeknownst to the others, Stan is there too, walking beside Eddie, who trails behind so he can murmur to him without being overheard.

“What do you know about Mike's plan?” Eddie asks, and Stan smirks.

“It's amazing how much you really believe me. I thought as soon as you were the only one who could see me, I was fucked,” Stan says.

“Well, you haven't tried to kill me yet. Pennywise would've by now. And besides, I already said you don't feel like him. He was—is—really bad at imitations.”

They walk for a bit longer in silence before Stan answers.

“Being dead is weird,” he says, and Eddie doesn't know if it would be wrong to laugh at that, so he settles for saying nothing. “It's like time isn't linear to me anymore. I can be pretty much wherever, and I see other things happening, and then I have to straighten out what applies to the here and now. Here and now for you, not for me. Because I'm not here anymore so I don't have a now.”

“I...think I get that?” Eddie says.

“The ritual isn't going to work,” Stan says.

“I didn't think it would. Why does Bill think it will?”

“Because Bill needs for It to be dead. And he only knows half of what Mike knows.”

“So Mike's lying?” Eddie asks, getting pissed off at Mike all over again.

“Mike needs to believe it will work. It's all he has, really.”

“Jesus.” Eddie sighs and shuts up for a second when Richie turns to look at him curiously.

“I don't know why I'm still here. I keep trying to figure it out, and what I've guessed is that I need to stop you from being killed. I can't...change a lot about what's going to happen. If I do too much, I could mess everything up, so I can't tell you all I know. Maybe it'll make things much different, maybe not. But things aren't going to be fixed if we both die,” Stan says.

“Neither of us should die,” Eddie mutters, and Stan doesn't look at him, just keeps walking.

“One of us was going to. You don't get to have a perfect ending, right? I wish I could change everything, I do. I wish I could go back in time and stop Georgie from dying too, but it doesn't work that way. I can only interact with you. So you're the one I'm going to save.” Stan's eyes soften, and he looks affectionately at Eddie. “I love you, Eds. You don't deserve to die, and I'm going to fix it.”

All over again, Eddie is crying. The people he loves most in the world are walking with him, and one of them is dead. It isn't fair.

“I'm sorry, Stan,” Eddie says softly, wiping at his eyes. “I don't mean to keep being a baby, it's just a lot. It's a _lot_.”

“I know,” Stan says.

“The others, what happens to them? When I die?”

“Some of them work it out,” Stan says. “They don't get over you. Or me. But I think you're the straw that breaks the camel's back. Richie, um. He's especially not okay.”

Eddie looks at Richie's back as they walk, his hands clenching into fists.

“He gets about two more years,” Stan continues quietly. The implications hang.

“Oh god. Does...does he...?”

“He doesn't do it to himself, like me. Not intentionally, anyway. He drinks too much and ends up crashing his car. But he's a wreck the entire time. I never want to see him that way again.”

Stan and Richie were always best friends in a way that used to make Eddie's hackles rise on instinct, and...still does. He bristles in that familiar way because Stan knows Richie so well and cares so much for Richie, and Eddie selfishly wants Richie's attentions that way, too. He's still remembering new things, and being desperate for Richie's attention and then being overwhelmed when he got it is something he's recalling with alarming intensity.

“That can't happen!” Eddie hisses, filled with fury at the thought of Richie being so broken up about him that he never gets over it. And the others will lose three friends? It's not something Eddie can bear to think about. “Why does— Why's he lose it so much over...?”

“Are you really asking me this?” Stan asks tiredly, and when he looks at Eddie in that way he always used to, annoyed and exasperated, Eddie finds himself losing it all over again, just like _he_ always used to.

“No, fuck, _no_, that's not okay, you can't just fucking spring shit like this on me and then— What the fuck does that even _mean_, I don't know _shit_.”

“Eddie?” Bill asks, and Eddie whirls back to face the group, who got a little ahead of him. Eddie didn't even realize he stopped walking. “W-what is it?”

Eddie glances between their worried faces and settles on Richie's, whose eyes are wide with worry behind his glasses, and Eddie starts hyperventilating.

“Fucking shit, fucking—_nnghh!_” He reaches for the inhaler he knows he doesn't need, and he considers throwing it as hard as he can, but the thought passes because he _does_ need it, just not in the way he thought he did. Instead he clutches it like a precious fucking artifact and doubles over as he uses it, inhaling the water vapor like it's an actual drug.

“Eddie!” Richie is suddenly there, patting his back, his shoulders. “What's wrong, what is it, c'mon—“

“It muh-might be...Pennywise,” Bill says.

Eddie shakes his head furiously and tries to force himself to _breathe_, getting madder when he can't. Isn't it such bullshit that even knowing something is all in your head doesn't make it stop? It's only worse somehow because his own mind is playing tricks on him. He both pushes Richie away and clings to him at the same time, and he settles for a death grip on Richie's sleeve.

“I can't—can't _breathe_,” he rasps, and Richie's arms fly around him, not too tight. He smells like cheap cologne and fake leather and it's the best thing Eddie's ever smelled in his pathetic life.

“It's okay, just focus on me. Focus on what I'm doing. Try to breathe when I do, okay? Yeah, that's good, you're doing good, Eds,” Richie says in a soothing voice. Eddie sobs at how much he loves the stupid nickname and how much it calms him down.

He thinks of how it would be if things were reversed, if he learned he was the one who had to go on without Richie in the future. He doesn't think he'd make it a whole two years, and that knowledge makes his heart break even more.

“He's okay,” Richie says to the others. Then, softer, to Eddie, “Just hang on to me, man, I'm here.”

“Richie,” he sobs, his voice wrecked. Richie curses and holds him tighter.

“Let's all just rest a minute,” Beverly says, and Eddie loves her. “It's been a long night and none of us have slept. It's amazing we aren't all having an attack.”

“But,” Mike starts, and Bill puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Just a f-few muh-minutes, Mike.”

Beverly lights a cigarette and Ben trails after her, looking lovesick as always. Eddie, meanwhile, realizes his hands are fisted in the back of Richie's jacket, but he doesn't let go because it's helping to ground him.

“Did you see something, Eds?” Richie asks quietly.

Eddie considers telling him, because Richie wouldn't think he was crazy. He doesn't know why exactly he isn't telling the others. They could probably help him figure things out, and surely they'd have things to ask Stan themselves. But if Eddie was going to tell any of them, it'd be Richie, because even Bill is willing to risk everything for a ritual that won't work out of pure desperation, and Richie is the only one as pissed off to be here as Eddie is. So, face still buried in Richie's neck, Eddie nods.

“What was it? You can tell me. I won't tell anyone else.”

“It's not...It. Since I got back here, since the restaurant, I... I see...” He sighs and breathes in Richie's scent more, letting it steel him. “It's Stan.”

“_What?”_

“He was there, sitting in his chair, and I just knew he was dead. I knew before anyone else. And I thought it was crazy, because I didn't remember Pennywise, but then I _did_ and this—isn't that. It's not the clown. It's Stan, and he's dead, and only I can see him.”

“Eddie...”

“I know how it sounds, and I need you to believe me when I say it's not a trick. I can _feel_ it.”

“But why would you be the only one who can see him? We all made the oath. We should all see him.”

“I think we will, one by one, when it's...the next one's turn to die.”

Richie's breath hitches, and he pulls back from Eddie, face stricken. He shakes his head.

“Bev said there wasn't an order!”

“She said that because it was in front of me, and she already knows I'm next. Stan was the weakest, and I'm the next one to go, so I can see him. After me, I don't know. Apparently Stan and I weren't supposed to survive this and everyone else was.” Eddie looks closely at Richie's face, and he makes a soft noise in his throat at all the anguish and fear he sees there. He reaches up before he can think better of it, his hand brushing Richie's cheek. “I need you to believe me.”

Richie leans into his hand almost desperately, his wild eyes searching over Eddie's face. “I _do_. I do fucking believe you, and I'm _scared_, okay? I can't—Eddie, I can't lose you too. I won't—“

He won't make it. He doesn't say that last part, but Eddie hears it anyway, and he hates that he knows just how true it is. The look on Richie's face and the way he holds tightly to Eddie screams implications that Eddie longs to believe, but he's scared to, because what if he's wrong?

_Are you really asking me this?_ Stan had asked, like Eddie should just _know_ why Richie can't let go of him. And maybe deep down, he does know why. He knows he wouldn't be able to let go of Richie, either. He knows it's why he's telling Richie, and no one else about Stan.

But now isn't the time to think about these things. Not when Pennywise is alive. Maybe not even later, because Eddie is married and too much of a coward to let himself have what he wants.

Maybe there _will_ be time, at some incredible point, and since Stan said time isn't linear, he might know for sure when that is.

Eddie will remind himself to ask later.

***

They find the clubhouse and listen to Mike talk about the ritual that won't work. They remember Stan and his worries, always practical in a way Eddie never could be, and Eddie looks at the hammock with a blush on his face that's mirrored similarly on Richie's.

They stand side by side, shoulders touching. No one else comments on it. When Mike tells them they need to split up to retrieve their artifacts, Richie scoffs and throws an arm around Eddie's shoulders.

“No fucking way. We were together all that summer.”

“Not all of it,” Mike says, and they remember the fight. Richie glares at Bill.

“Oh, yeah. You punched me. You bastard.”

“Sorry,” Bill says in a way that says he's not all that sorry about it. “You said Guh-Georgie was d-dead.”

Eddie wasn't there for this fight, but he _did_ hear about it. Richie had crawled through his window the night it happened, after Eddie got his arm set and was on pain pills, grounded and miserable. Richie was suddenly in his bed, sobbing, holding Eddie for dear life and saying he was sorry over and over for letting Eddie get hurt. Eddie was high off his mind but he pet Richie's hair and murmured it was fine and then Richie said Bill punched him. _“You nearly died, Eds, you almost died and he didn't even fucking care and I was just so mad...” _They didn't talk about it afterwards, because Eddie woke later to find Richie gone, and he wasn't entirely sure it wasn't a dream.

Richie narrows his eyes at Bill as if to say, _“Yeah, well he WAS dead.” _Eddie nudges Richie with his shoulder and gives him a look to shut him up. To the side of them, Beverly snorts.

“A lot of bad things happened,” Ben says nervously. “Getting mad about it now won't help. What do we need to do exactly, Mike?”

“You need to remember the rest of our story,” Mike says. “We've all got a good chunk of it now, but we have to know all of it for the ritual to work.”

Richie meets Eddie's eyes, his face sour. Eddie glares back at him, and they argue silently.

“_No way we're separating,” _Richie's face says.

“_We have to,” _Eddie's says in return. _“This is why no one ever tells you secrets, because you're bad at keeping them.”_

“_What?” _Richie's face says, because he doesn't understand the eyebrow thing Eddie just did. Eddie huffs and looks away from him. Richie is always missing important signals.

The others reluctantly go their separate ways, and Eddie stands with Richie and Stan in the middle of the Barrens, hands in his pockets.

“I'm going with you,” Richie says.

“I don't think it works that way,” Eddie says, looking to Stan. “Stan says we can't change too much. It'll fuck up the timeline or something.”

“What the _fuck_ does that mean? Stan! Stan, where are you, you bastard, if you're as stubborn in death as you are in life you can _talk_ to me, I'm sure of it!” Richie throws his hands up. Stan looks warily at him.

“C'mon, Rich, surely you know about some of this stuff. You get an opportunity to go back in time and kill a bad guy, but then you go back to your time and find out some _other_ bad guy exists now and is even worse than the other one and _you_ caused it? I don't know shit about time and ghosts and—stuff, but Stan seems adamant that only a few things can change. Right now, we need to separate.” Eddie gives Richie a smile that probably isn't convincing.

“What if it happens now?” Richie asks weakly.

“If what happens?”

“If I leave you alone and you die!” Richie barks. He looks almost unhinged. “I can't fucking live with that!”

“It's not now,” Stan says.

“Stan says it's not now,” Eddie repeats. Richie doesn't look convinced.

“How the fuck do we know this is even Stan?”

“Rich...” Eddie says tiredly.

“No, for real. I know you say it doesn't feel like Pennywise, but it's been twenty-seven goddamn years since we've seen the guy. He could be better at hiding it. How do we know it's really Stan? I'm gonna ask a question only the _real_ Stan would know.”

“Go for it,” Stan says. Eddie just motions at Richie to go on.

“That same summer we thought we killed It, what did I tell him _in confidence_ when we were alone in his room?” Richie asks triumphantly.

“Tell him he does _not_ want me to answer that in front of you,” Stan tells Eddie. Eddie frowns and repeats it to Richie, whose eyes go wide and frantic.

“Not _that!_” Richie elaborates. “The other thing! It was when I stayed for dinner and his mom made pasta and...” Richie gestures a vague motion with his hand.

Stan makes a face and then wrinkles his nose. “The thing about him finding Tom Selleck's mustache attractive? I thought he was joking.”

“Something about Tom Selleck and his hot mustache?” Eddie asks Richie, whose mouth falls open.

“Shit,” Richie says.

“Mustaches are _not_ attractive, for the record. Do you know how much bacteria gets caught in them daily? Think about how much you eat and drink in a day. Fucking gross,” Eddie says.

“Think about all the flesh eating bacteria in the razor you use to shave with, though,” Richie counters, and Eddie gapes at him, lost for words.

“Oh my god,” Eddie finally says.

“Yeah. You don't know everything. Should expand your risk analyst _repertoire._”

“Did you fucking Google that word, you piece of—“

“_Guys,” _Stan hisses, exasperated.

“We're splitting up now,” Eddie says, pointing at Richie warningly. “So don't fucking die, okay, or I'll kill you again.”

“Really rich, coming from you. Aren't you on death row or something?” Richie asks.

“I'm telling you to be careful!”

“Then just _say_ that!”

“This is Hell. This is Hell, and I must've been a horrible person,” Stan says to himself, and Eddie decides, yeah, okay, it's time to go.

***

Remembering just how badly his anxieties were and just how much _adults_ used to enable him is somehow a highlight of his journey. Getting barfed on by the leper is the definitive low point. He marches through the townhouse, passing Beverly, covered in black filth.

“Are you okay?” Beverly asks.

“Fine, I'm fine,” he says flippantly, passing her quickly. He runs into Richie outside his room.

“Eds! Fuck, what—what's all over you?”

“Leper barf,” Eddie says in a far more level voice than he feels. “I need to shower now, immediately.”

“Yeah, okay, you do that. Um. Are you okay?” Richie asks uncertainly. Eddie laughs, and something about it must be unhinged, because Richie doesn't stop him from going into his bathroom again.

Honestly, Eddie should have expected Bowers to be there with a knife, but as a risk analyst he knows better than most how hindsight is always twenty-twenty.

***

“Oh, fuck,” Beverly says as she examines the hole in his cheek. Ben is inside Eddie's room, looking for Bowers. Richie is looking at him, expression terrified.

“Is it bad?” Eddie asks.

“Looks rugged, Eds,” Richie says. He gives a shaky thumbs up.

“He's gone,” Ben says when he emerges. “I saw him drive off in his old car. How the fuck is that thing still running?” He looks down at Eddie with soft eyes. “You okay, buddy?”

“I'm great. Always wanted a hole in my face,” Eddie says.

“It went right through. Nothing major,” Beverly says.

“If I keep swallowing blood, I'm going to vomit,” Eddie says.

“Spit it out then,” Richie advises, his face still white, his hands in his pockets.

“Not to be dramatic,” Stan says, “but someone needs to get to the library, or Mike's gonna die.”

Eddie stands and ignores Beverly's attempts to wipe at his face with the rag.

“I'm fine, we can bandage it in the car. Right now, we have to go, okay? Please trust me.”

***

Seeing Richie kill a man is one of the worst things Eddie's ever seen in his life, and he's seen _very _questionable things in New York.

It's not so much the act itself. Eddie's seen far more blood and gore than the average person. It's seeing _Richie _do it that hurts so bad. Richie, hands shaking, launching to save Mike because the rest of them are frozen in fear.

“It's how it was supposed to happen,” Stan says, but Eddie doesn't feel relief. He feels sick with shame, because it should be him with blood on his hands. Richie doesn't deserve to live with this.

“Rich!” Eddie cries when Richie doubles over and vomits. Ben goes to Mike's side, and Eddie scrambles to Richie's. “Fuck, are you okay? Wait, no, that's stupid, I'm sorry. Just—what can I do?”

“Stan _sucks_ as a fucking spirit guide,” Richie hisses, narrowing his eyes.

“What?” Eddie asks, staring at him blankly.

“You got _stabbed! _You could've been killed! And I just fucking killed a guy! Isn't all this, I don't know, things that could be _avoided_ by people who know the future?!”

“Richie, we can't change that much. I told you that.” Eddie glances at Stan, who looks guilty and small. “I'm fine. You're fine. Mike's fine. It was him or Bowers, and you made the right call. I would've made the same call.”

“Eds,” Richie breathes. He leans forward and rests his forehead against Eddie's, his eyes closed. He looks so tired, and so stressed. Eddie hates all of this, but he knows there isn't much he can do to fix it.

“You're the best part about all of this,” Eddie says, because he needs to say something. Richie blinks owlishly at him. “I mean it, okay? Even back then you made it...easier. You'd say stupid shit, and make me mad, and it would distract me from the worst of it. I don't guess I ever thanked you for that, but I'm doing it now.”

“I need to...to tell you about what I saw today. When I got my artifact,” Richie says, and Eddie nods.

“Okay, yeah, I'll tell you what I saw, too.”

“Guys!” Mike's voice cuts through. “Bill's going to fight It alone. He's on his way to Neibolt.”

“This is it,” Stan says, and Eddie's hands grip tight to Richie's shoulders.

“We're going to talk later, okay? And we're going to walk out of that fucking house _knowing_ It's dead this time. We're never going to wonder again.”

“Okay,” Richie breathes, looking dazedly into Eddie's eyes. “I'll fucking agree to anything you say, as long as you keep looking at me like that.”

“Now isn't really the time,” Stan says weakly, but it does nothing to dull the moment.

***

Honestly, going back down under Neibolt is a lot like the first time. They're all sure they're going to their deaths, and they know they have no choice. They hold each other a little tighter, argue a little less, and do their best to stay together.

But it doesn't work out, just like the first time.

The ritual fails, just as Stan said it would. They all get thrown apart, aside from Eddie and Richie, who get hurdled toward Pennywise's same old tricks.

For an eternal demon space clown, he sure is redundant.

Eddie's hand is in Richie's as they run from Pennywise, who until moments ago was a _very_ cute Pomeranian. Eddie grips him desperately, afraid to let go. Eddie almost let Richie _die_ because he was so scared. He's never going to let Richie go again.

“Fuck, fuck!” Richie shouts as they run. “It's tonight, right? It's gotta be tonight! When am I supposed to know when this shit is going down, if only _you_ can see Stan?”

“Because you're clearly staying with me!” Eddie shouts back.

“Well fucking _duh. _Never leaving your shitty, fake asthmatic ass again!”

“Fine! Whatever! Don't then! See if I fucking care!”

“You fucking _care_ alright, you stupid fucker—“

And then Mike is screaming, and a lot of things happen very quickly after that.

Richie taunts It, and gets caught in the deadlights, floating from the ground, blood from his nose rising through the air. Eddie realizes very quickly no one else is going to stop this from happening, and he swallows every fear he's ever had and launches forward with the spear Beverly gave him.

“BEEP BEEP, MOTHERFUCKER!”

He throws the spear, and barely notices it lands in It's gaping mouth, because Richie is falling to the ground, and Eddie only cares about that. Eddie lands on all fours over Richie, and he slaps at Richie's cheek as gently as he can.

“Hey! Richie! Hey! There he is, buddy!” Eddie says excitedly as Richie blinks awake from his stupor. “Hey, I think I got—“

“MOVE, EDDIE!” Stan yells, and Eddie doesn't think twice, just rolls off Richie and lays beside him, side by side. They watch as It's claw soars over their heads, swiping at where Eddie was moments before.

“Fuck,” Richie breathes.

“I think... I think that was...”

“Get O-OUT of there!” Bill shouts, and they're rolling over each other to scramble away towards the little alcove out of reach of Pennywise's frantic swipes.

“Eddie!” Beverly sobs, launching into his arms even as Pennywise shouts and curses them. “You—you were... You were going to...!”

“I know. It's okay now. I think we're all going to be fine.” He holds her as tightly as she's holding him.

“I knew... I knew you were supposed to be next. I didn't know _how_ it would happen. I didn't remember Stan's until after I already knew he was gone.” She sobs. “I'd never let you die if I knew how it'd happen, Eddie, I _swear._”

“Bev, I _know._ Stop crying, okay? I'm fine. I'm not going anywhere.” It all has to do with how much they're allowed to change. Eddie was supposed to be dying now, so anything that happens after this is new. He looks back, and for some reason, Stan is still there, looking as confused as Eddie is about it.

“I know how to kill It,” Eddie tells them. Richie's hands grip his shoulders.

“Stan?” he whispers for Eddie's ears only.

“No. This one's all me,” Eddie says, smiling at him, and Richie holds his gaze for a moment before looking down, suddenly shy, and Eddie thinks despite everything, it's one of the best things he's seen.

***

In the aftermath, when It stops screaming, all of their hands, even Stan's, crushing It's heart together, the fog immediately lifts.

It's almost like all of them wake up after being asleep, and everything they ever forgot about their town comes flooding back. Bill stops stuttering. Somehow, Eddie swears he feels the entire town waking up with them, though they were all much more asleep than the Losers. Maybe on the news later, instead of saying an earthquake or a sinkhole caused the old house on Neibolt street to cave in, the anchors will _actually_ say it was something unexplainable.

Then again, Eddie isn't going to hold his breath. Baby steps, and all that. He'd be happy with them mentioning it at all.

Bill decides they should clean off in the quarry, and Eddie bites his tongue on his reservations. After everything, it seems counterproductive to lecture them all on the brain-eating amoeba, and it's definitely not hot enough for them right now anyway, and there aren't a whole lot of recorded cases in Maine, but just in case, he tells them all they should avoid getting water up their noses.

“Oh, Eddie,” Beverly says, looking at him. “I love you. I'm so glad you're here.”

Eddie grins at her, and then she jumps first, just like the first time. But this time, Eddie holds Richie's hand as they jump together, and even when they hit the water, they never lose their grip.

“For the record,” Eddie tells them, “I hate this.”

“Cleaning off in dirty water?” Beverly asks.

“Imagine how fucking _pissed_ I'm going to be if I helped kill a psychotic horror space clown just to die from a bacterial infection.” He points at his cheek. “This thing is _fresh_. I swear to everything that might exist, I will haunt you all. I'll take _turns_ between you.”

“Isn't he cute, guys?” Richie asks, looking down at him fondly.

“The cutest,” Ben agrees. Eddie splashes water at him.

“Eddie, I have to ask... How did you know all that you did? This whole time, you never saw the deadlights. I'm certain of it. And you knew more than me.” Beverly watches him with pale green eyes, and Eddie decides they should all know now that it's over.

“Stan. He's been here this whole time. He wanted to change our ending.”

“Stan?” Bill breathes.

“I was supposed to get skewered back there, that's all I know. Stan says time isn't linear, and things get mixed up sometimes, but if I'm lucky I'll stay far the fuck away from that alternative timeline,” Eddie says. “It's over. I'm alive because of Stan.”

“Oh,” Beverly gasps, her eyes filling with tears.

“That time... When we found him with that woman from the painting, do you think...?” Mike asks.

“Yeah. I think he saw the deadlights. He was never the same, after that,” Bill says.

None of them ask how Beverly saw them so long ago and is still alive. They don't need to. Stan was a kind, soft-hearted man, and Beverly is a loving, fiery woman who has had to fight all her life. Things are different, people are different. Comparing them would be a disservice to them both.

Eddie looks over at Stan, who is watching them sullenly. He looks so out of place, and Eddie years for him to be part of this, or to pass on. He wants Stan to be at peace. He's _earned_ it.

“Love you, Stan,” Richie calls to where Eddie is looking. All of the Losers call out to Stan, though only one of them can actually see him.

Stan sobs and waves from the shore.

***

Going back to the townhouse isn't ideal.

For one thing, Eddie got stabbed in the bathroom, and it's probably still covered in his and Bowers's blood. For another thing, despite loving his friends, Eddie is ready to get the hell out of Derry.

He's sure the others feel the same way.

It's overwhelmingly sunny outside, and Eddie has been up for over twenty-four hours by this point. They're all still riding their adrenaline rushes, but they're all going to crash very soon. Eddie waves to them before bounding up the stairs as fast as he can to retrieve some clothes and find a clean bathroom to shower in, but somehow, his bathroom is clean, and a new shower curtain is hanging up.

“So someone _does_ work here...” he says to himself, but he can't question it too much, because if he doesn't clean himself off _now _he's going to lose his mind. He scrubs himself until his skin is pink and agitated, and then he dresses in some sweatpants and calls Myra for the first time since arriving, deciding now is as good a time as any.

He puts his wedding ring on the dresser, knowing he's not going to pick it up again.

The call doesn't go well. He finds himself caring less and less about what she's saying but he holds the phone to his ear and offers little _mm-hmm's_ as she rants at him, and at some point he just passes out, completely and totally exhausted, phone still in his hand.

***

His dreams shift back and forth between things he recalls vaguely, and things he never knew. A life that isn't his flashes before his eyes, and while he sees _himself_ in these memories, he knows he isn't seeing himself through his own eyes.

A creepy house on Neibolt street, Eddie's arm breaking, Eddie being lifted into Mike's newspaper basket and then being carted off by his angry mother. An argument with Bill, heated words that end in him laying on the ground, overwhelmed with hurt and betrayal.

Richie. These are _Richie's _memories.

Richie in an arcade playing with a boy with sandy blond hair, both of them laughing until Bowers shows up and all but chases Richie from the building, the word faggot following in Richie's wake. Fear, sick _shame_, the words echo in Richie's mind as he sits in the park and sobs into his hands.

Pennywise. A secret.

The kissing bridge. Richie's shaky hands as he carves letters into the wood that mean more to him than anything in the world, but he can't bring himself to say it. His hands linger over the carving. He quickly gets on his bike and peddles away, ignoring pain from the multiple splinters he got.

Reuniting. Killing Pennywise the first time. Holding Eddie's bloody hand and hating how much he still likes the excuse to do so.

Things after that look fuzzy, and it's parts of Richie's life Eddie never knew about, because this was after their memories of each other were gone.

Doing stand up for small crowds and having to stay and clean the floors after, drinking so much he barely knows how he makes it home some nights, sketched out buildings and copious drugs as he tries to rub elbows with the right people. Bigger crowds, more drinking, signing a contract hiring writers because his own jokes are too _controversial, but you're hilarious either way, Rich._

Getting pushed into walls, thrown into beds, sobbing quietly into his hands in the aftermath because no one feels right, and he's looking for a certain shape he can't remember but he knows is _real._

A phone call. A promise. Feelings returning as soon as he sees a dark haired man with big brown eyes standing across a restaurant. The same man above him, torn through with a claw in his middle, his blood all over Richie, his mouth sobbing Richie's name.

Eddie cries because he knows what's coming. This is the life that Stan saw. The reality that could've been, had Stan not saved him.

Richie, dragged away from Eddie's body, kicking and screaming, because he'd rather die with Eddie than live without him. A breakdown in the water. Re-carving something he knew twenty-seven years prior but knows all the more now. Going back to his old life and drinking himself to death day by day, blocking calls and numbers and texts from concerned friends, dreaming every night of Eddie and breaking down every morning, though it's exactly the same dream every time.

Getting behind the wheel of his car when he's wasted and accelerating even as he nears a sharp curve because he just doesn't _care _anymore...

Eddie wakes with a sharp cry and struggles to breathe, but he doesn't reach for his inhaler. There's warmth behind him, and he turns to see Richie sleeping next to him, his arms around Eddie, his brow furrowed from his own bad dreams.

The room is darker than it was when he passed out on the phone with Myra. He has no idea how much time has passed, but his body feels stiff, like he's been sleeping for a long time without moving. He groans softly and rolls over, putting his hands on Richie's face and smoothing out the worry lines.

“N-no...Eddie... _Please_, no...!” Richie whimpers, and Eddie wonders if they were seeing the same thing. Those alternate timelines. He wonders if it was Stan that made them see it.

“Richie. Hey. Rich!” Eddie shakes him and Richie's eyes fly open, wild and frantic, and they settle on Eddie. “There he is.” Eddie smiles at him.

“_Eds,” _Richie sobs, and he lunges at Eddie, scooping him up and clinging to him so tightly Eddie worries for his own spine. He pets through Richie's hair and tries to be soothing, though he's not the best at it. “You died. I _saw_ you die. I saw me live without you and, I...”

“That's over. It's not happening, okay? We avoided that. I'm here, and I'm with you.”

Richie puts his hand over Eddie's bare chest, his breath stilling when he feels the steady thumping of Eddie's heart. He looks broken up and terrified.

“I got into your bed,” Richie says after a while, because he always has to say something. Eddie rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, I figured I didn't carry you here, asshole.”

“I wasn't planning on it. I wanted to pop my head in to ask, at least, but you were asleep, and some woman was yelling at you on the phone. I hung up on her for you.”

“That was Myra. I told her I want a divorce.”

Richie nods, and his hand finds Eddie's left hand, his thumb swiping over Eddie's fingers to feel for a ring that's no longer there. He's still being so careful, like he's afraid he's misreading things between them.

“Guess she didn't take that well, then,” Richie says.

“No shit. She threatened to sue me.” Eddie grins when Richie snorts.

“For _what_?”

“I dunno, breach of contract? Like, I signed up to love her forever and I lied? I told her divorce _exists_, and has for a long ass time, and then she yelled at me for cursing at her.” Eddie sighs. “Christ. When I think of how much time I wasted. I never knew I could do better. Have better.” Eddie curls his fingers into Richie's hair, scratching lightly and lovingly at Richie's scalp. Richie shivers.

“So after I hung up on her for you, I just decided, _I wanna spoon Eds_, so I did. Sorry if that's creepy. I mean, I know it's creepy. But I had to be with you, okay? I _have_ to be with you,” Richie babbles. “You're the most important thing in the fucking world to me.”

“You carved our initials in the kissing bridge.” Eddie grins at Richie's shocked expression. “We had the same dream. I saw you doing it.”

“Guess the fucking cat's out of the bag, then,” Richie says. “Why'd we have the same dream? Do you think everyone did?”

“No. I think Stan needed us to see that. I think we needed to know what it would be like to...lose each other. What we could have missed out on.”

“Stan.” Richie nods. “Is he still here?”

Eddie doesn't even look around. He knows the answer without checking. “No. I don't think he's coming back anymore.” Stan needed them to all be happy. He saved Eddie, and he left Eddie in Richie's arms. Stan knows they'll all be fine, now.

“Eds,” Richie breathes, and then Eddie leans forward and kisses him.

“I love you,” Eddie says, because Richie needs to hear it. Richie's face crumples in a way that worries the hell out of Eddie for a second, but then it's like a dam breaks, and Richie is hovering over him, pressing him in the bed, and kissing him like his life depends on it.

“I fucking— I've _always_ loved you. Even when we were kids and I didn't know that's what it was. Even when I couldn't remember. No one was ever _right_, because no one was—“

“I know,” Eddie reminds him. “I saw.”

Richie seems to suddenly comprehend their position, and he looks bashful for all of a second before Eddie is pulling him back down, kissing him harder, rubbing up against him with intent. Richie melts on top of him, groaning into Eddie's mouth in a way that shouldn't be as ridiculously hot as it is. Richie pulls back to look at him, pupils wide, hair wrecked. Eddie imagines he looks the same.

“You're fucking beautiful, Eds,” Richie whispers, sounding emotional about it. “I've always, just— I've wanted this for so long, and...”

“Hey,” Eddie murmurs. “I want this, too. I want _you_. Stop thinking so much.”

“Sounds crazy, coming from you. How are you the calm one, here?”

“I don't know. Maybe because this is finally happening? Maybe because It's dead for good now, and being scared to have what I want is too bizarre to even think about. I fucking _earned_ having this. We both did. And nothing else matters because even if you're bad in bed, I'll still love you because you're _you_ and...” Eddie laughs softly, shaking his head. “I've been yours for as long as I can remember. I don't think that's going to change.”

Richie's mouth hangs open comically, and then he's glaring down at Eddie, no real heat to it. “First of all, I'm _great_ in the sack.”

“Okay.”

“Second of all, you're goddamn right you're mine.” Richie pauses. “But, uh. To reiterate the first talking point, I don't think I'm gonna last long.”

Eddie peers up at him. “Really?”

“Dude, you're literally every wet dream I've ever had. I've never really planned to _get_ this far.” Richie grinds down against him, and Eddie's eyes slide closed at the friction. It's overwhelming how hard Richie already is just from kissing _him._

“Fuck, Rich...” Eddie licks his lips, nervous now. “No one's ever... I mean, I guess I never thought of myself as the kind of person someone could have wet dreams about. I'm not exactly _Ben_, you know?”

“Oh, _baby_,” Richie coos, “I'm gonna show you just how much I want you.” He reaches down and slides Eddie's sweatpants off. “It's a good thing Stan passed on. I don't think he'd wanna watch what I'm about to do to you.”

It _is_ over quickly, but Eddie can't make fun of anything because _he's _the one coming first. Richie presses him into the bed, his big hand pumping both their dicks, his mouth against Eddie's ear murmuring filthy things one second and loving praises the next. Eddie's nails rake down his back because it's _so much_ and they're barely even having sex at all.

Is this what it could have been like all these years?

“That's it, Eds, fuck, you're so good, so good for me,” Richie gasps as Eddie trembles under him, crying out curses and Richie's name. Eddie bites down into Richie's shoulder and Richie seizes above him, groaning loudly as he spills himself into his hand. He falls gracelessly onto Eddie, who's too blown apart to even comment on the mess between their bodies.

“Holy shit,” Richie breathes. “You're even scrappy in bed. I fucking _knew_ you would be.”

“Shut _up_,” Eddie says, but he pulls Richie even closer and runs his fingers soothingly along the scratch marks on Richie's back. “You've got about five minutes before I'm dragging you to the shower.”

“Mm. Enough time to bask, I guess,” Richie hums, and he lifts his head to lick into Eddie's mouth, and it ends up actually being about ten minutes, but who's counting anyway?

***

“Hey bitches,” Richie announces as they arrive at the restaurant and meet the other Losers. He holds up Eddie's hand. “Me and Eds are fucking now. Please contain your disappointment at missing out on the chance to get with me, I know I'm hot stuff. Looking at you here, Ben.”

“Beep fucking _beep_, Richie!” Eddie hisses, yanking his hand away and shoving Richie hard enough that he actually stumbles.

“Well, it's about time,” Beverly says, a wide smile on her face.

“Wait. You aren't kidding? Like, I always thought it was a weird courting thing you were doing, but it's also _Richie_, so it's hard to tell,” Mike says.

“He's my rebound,” Eddie says. “I'm getting divorced.”

“Hey, me too,” Beverly says. “Let's order a few drinks and toast to that.”

“I'm happy for you guys,” Bill says, looking at them with a smile so wide his eyes crinkle in the corners, and Eddie still feels weightless just from Bill's approval.

Ben moves forward and actually _picks_ Eddie up, and Eddie squawks in protest.

“Damn, Haystack, if you want Eds, you gotta take me too. We're kind of a package deal now,” Richie says.

“I'm just _so_ happy,” Ben says, putting Eddie down and moving to hug Richie, who reciprocates much better than Eddie did. “I love you guys so much.”

“Ben's had a few celebratory mimosas today,” Beverly explains as Ben weeps a little.

“Get a man drunk and toss him my way,” Richie says. “I like how you think, Marsh.”

They order drinks and way too much food, and they laugh and talk and celebrate the _proper _way, no demon clown looming over them this time. Ben leans into Beverly and keeps kissing her hair, and Mike announces he's moving to Florida at the beginning of the month. Bill is going to go home and take Audra on the fanciest date he can, and then he's going to start a new book.

“Is the ending gonna suck?” Richie asks, and Bill tosses a napkin at him.

“What are you two lovebirds gonna do?” Beverly asks Richie.

“I'm gonna go back to Cali and work on my act. I'm already in talks with Netflix for a special but I think I'd like to write my own jokes for it. Gotta see if I can let go of my writers without getting sued or something. I'm not exactly in the good graces right now since my stage meltdown.”

“And I've gotta go back to New York and file for divorce. Or maybe Myra's already done that. I'm sure she's going to try and take me for all I'm worth, but that's fine. I just want to get away from that life.” Eddie takes a sip of his wine. “I want a fresh start.”

“You can always come live with me,” Richie says. “I kind of love you.”

“I was already planning on it, asshole. I've been Googling jobs in LA all morning.”

“Fuck yeah. Gonna shack up with my Eds here, gonna be a hot comedian. Life's looking up for old Richie Tozier.” He smiles at Eddie, and they both know the other is thinking about that life they saw before, the one that could've been if Eddie had died. Eddie leans forward and kisses him, squeezing Richie's thigh under the table, because that future is never happening. Eddie's going to make sure of it.

“I wanna toast to Stan,” Bill says softly, watching Richie and Eddie fondly. “We owe a lot to him. We always did, but...even more so now.”

They raise their glasses to Stan, and even though Stan's gone for good now, Eddie looks over to Stan's empty chair, still present at their table, and he feels like Stan is there, with them, happy for them all.

***

Eddie drops off his rental car and then clamors into Richie's, stuffing his suitcases in the backseat.

“Should've just taken _my_ rental to the airport. This car is fucking ridiculous, Rich.”

“_You_ chose a different rental place. I got this baby _from_ the airport. Makes more sense to take mine. Besides, you better get used to this car, because I've got one just like it at home,” Richie says.

“Of course you do.”

They drive past all the old sights, which aren't much to behold, but they're full of memories. As they near the kissing bridge, Eddie squeezes Richie's shoulder.

“Stop the car. I wanna see it for real.”

Richie hesitates, but he pulls over, and Eddie exits the car and goes to the end of the bridge where he saw a younger Richie carving into the wood twenty-seven years prior, almost sick with fear, but so determined, too. Eddie runs his fingers carefully over the carving, a smile on his lips.

“Do you have a knife with you?” he asks Richie, who nods and hands it over, his hands going into his pockets as he watches Eddie lean over and refresh the carving.

“There,” Eddie announces. He added a little heart next to it, and it looks a little wonky, but it looks pretty cute, too. He turns back to Richie, who is all but blubbering silently into his hands.

“I'm sorry. Fuck, I'm just— I'm really happy. These are good tears, man,” Richie says, and Eddie moves into his space, pulling him down into a tight hug, letting him get it all out. “I love you so much,” Richie adds, and Eddie laughs softly.

“Love you too. Now c'mon, let's get the fuck out of Derry.”

As they leave the bridge and the rest of the town behind, Eddie pulls out his phone and laughs at what Ben added to their Loser's group chat. He reads it out to Richie, who tells Eddie what to type in response, and Eddie grins at him as Richie threads their fingers together and kisses Eddie's hand.

So many possible endings, but this is theirs now, and they won't have to wait long until they're back together again. Eddie knows he won't ever leave Richie's side again after they reunite, just like when they were kids and clumsily always sought each other out, not knowing why.

Now they know well enough.

**Author's Note:**

> y'all ever think about how "beep beep" has almost the same effect on Richie as "sit boy" does to Inuyasha cause now i hope you think of nothing else
> 
> [my tumblr](https://sachigram.tumblr.com/)


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